


Hymn 474

by Onaa



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Amora is mentioned, Blow Jobs, Camping, First Time, Hand Jobs, Loki hates camping, Loki is adopted when he's old enough to remember his birth family, M/M, Odin is there too I guess, Pseudo-Incest, War Trauma, book worm Loki, he doesn't do much beyond working at a bank and being disappointed that Loki doesn't like camping, references to world war 2, tipsy sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:27:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24398017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onaa/pseuds/Onaa
Summary: In early 1950s Sweden, two adopted brothers go camping in an attempt to mend a relationship that has been collapsing for years.or:During World War II, around 70 000 children were evacuated from a war-torn Finland to its neighbouring countries, most to Sweden. They lost their family and culture, and 10 000 would never return. Loki barely remembers any Finnish.or:Thor and Loki set out from uncle Frey’s house just after an early breakfast, and have reached past the small village of Krokek and to the end of the bicycle path by mid-morning. They lock their bicycles in a shelter and continue on foot, using a map and compass to find a small lake further into the woods.They argue about the fastest way. They argue about the accuracy of the almost antique map. They argue about everything, these days.
Relationships: Loki/Thor (Marvel)
Comments: 50
Kudos: 113
Collections: Boys of Summer





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok! First of all:  
> I choose not to use archive warnings, but technically Loki is underage in this story as he hasn't turned eighteen. I tried to work with the mechanics of the school system at the time, but if I wanted to keep the one-year age difference and have both of them in secondary school, that's what it is. I completely understand if that's not your cup of tea.
> 
> Seconds, some thanks! to users [jotunking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jotunking/pseuds/jotunking), for getting me hooked on this ship (and for planting firmly in my mind the idea of Loki hating camping), and to user [pohjanneito](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pohjanneito/pseuds/pohjanneito) for opening my mind to the idea of a story that takes place in modern Scandinavia. Then that turned to mid-century, but that's not her fault.
> 
> This story started as a dream I had in the fall of 2019, summed up as "Thor and Loki are human teenagers who go camping, Loki hates it and his native tongue is something else than Swedish." The rest is more intentional nonsense.

Thor and Loki set out from uncle Frey’s house just after an early breakfast, and have reached past the small village of Krokek and to the end of the bicycle path by mid-morning. They lock their bicycles in a shelter and continue on foot, using a map and compass to find a small lake further into the woods.

They argue about the fastest way. They argue about the accuracy of the almost antique map. They argue about everything, these days.

Thor is bone weary of it, but he doesn’t know how to stop. School only let out last week and he had been hoping that, with the end of the term and relief from stress, they’d get along better. Loki has been working hard his first year of gymnasiet and comes out on top of his class, as expected. Thor has been getting along as usual, not among the top students, but not among the worst ones either, but the next year is his last one. He is going to have to pass his graduation exams if he wants to go to university, and lately, school has taken up more of his time and energy than he’d like to admit.

  
Yet here they are. Over a full week into their summer holiday and at each other’s throats as usual. The woodland is hard to traverse, and Loki trudges on behind, only coming up next to him when they reach the odd clearing and need to consult the map. Not that Thor really needs his help; he’s quite good with a map and compass, and Loki, frankly, isn’t. Maybe it’s selfish of him, but Thor secretly cherishes the fact that there are things that don’t come naturally to Loki; he’s been ahead of Thor in every school subject except gymnastics for years now. Even Swedish, which is beyond unfair, since it isn’t even his mother tongue.  
There were days when they did everything together. There were days when we would have been able to say, without hesitation, that Loki knew all of his secrets. True, the reverse wasn’t always true - Loki was a quiet and withdrawn child, right from the beginning - but it had been them against the world almost right from that first day.

* * *

  
He had been eight years old. In retrospect, Thor should have seen it coming, but he was a carefree child who lived in the moment without need to second-guess the grownups around him. And the truth was that Thor had always wanted a brother. Oh, he’d asked mum once or twice why he didn’t have a brother or sister, like all of his friends did. But she had looked so sad, and dad had looked so sternly at Thor, that he never asked again. And then suddenly this.

It was an ordinary afternoon in April. He was alone at home, doing nothing in particular, swinging his legs and humming to himself, tin soldiers abandoned on the dining table, waiting for Mum and Dad to come back from the train station. Mum had sat him down on the kitchen bench that morning, stroked his hair, and explained to him that they were going to go pick up a little boy from Finland at the station. That since there was a war on, and that although Sweden wasn’t in the war now, Finland was, and that the parents in Finland were sending their little children away to be safe. Thor had nodded. They had talked about it a little in school, he knew about the Finnish war refugees, about how _Finland’s Problems are Ours Too_. He had heard on the radio news about Russian bombs falling over Helsinki. Right away, it had seemed like the right thing to do, since mum and dad only had Thor to look after, and dad had a decent, well paying job at the bank. He had imagined a little boy who could be taught to play football in the courtyard of their building. Who could play with Thor’s old abandoned toy horses and maybe even the tin soldiers, if he was the careful type. Thor wouldn’t be the only child without siblings anymore; even Sif had a brother, although Heimdall was almost a grownup and had been a student at the university in Uppsala before he was was drafted to patrol the border to Norway. So no, Thor wasn’t sad about sharing his space with another boy. He was even a little excited about meeting this boy; it wouldn’t be long now. It was only a fifteen-minute walk to the railway station. He could wait.

But he was surprised when Odin and Frigga arrived back home with a boy roughly his own age, perhaps a _little_ younger. Loki was thin and looked worn out and frail, like he hadn’t slept in a long time, his clothing not sitting quite right on his skinny frame. Green of eyes and dark of hair, he looked very little like the rest of them. Yet this strange child was to be Thor’s brother from now. Despite his unfulfilled expectations, Thor swallowed his disappointment, and if you had asked him a week later, he would have forgotten it altogether. Instead, he took upon himself the task of making Loki feel welcome in their home, their neighborhood, their town. The language barrier that seemed fundamental to the grownups was somehow less important when there were slides and balls and goalposts, monkey bars and trees to climb, bark boats to float and tantalizing store windows to peer through.

* * *

  
They start arguing again as they’re setting up the tent. Maybe the tension of the school term hasn’t entirely left their bodies after all, and the exhaustion from the bike ride and long hike with heavy packs hasn’t cleared up a thing, only made then both more tired, surlier and more stubborn. They bicker about where to set up, how to orient the tent, and finally on the technique for raising it. Once it’s up, Thor takes out his frustration on the tentpoles with a mallet, whilst Loki has sat down with his back against a tree trunk, legs crossed and his nose demonstratively in a book, only pausing every so often to glare.

* * *

  
Everything is easier when you’re small. Within six months, the old ladies in their building have stopped clicking their tongues disapprovingly. _Look at Frigga’s boys,_ they say instead, _like mud and hay, those two are._ Oh, that first spring. Thor has shown Loki all of the best places: the park by the railway station, the hill where they would go sledding in the winter, the best climbing trees down by the creek. On Saturdays, when Odin is at cafes with his friends and Frigga is cooking, or cleaning, or at the dairy shop or the butcher’s, the boys roam more or less freely about town. Through Loki’s eyes, Thor sees all of his favorite places anew. The only place they avoid is the train platform; the single time they make it there, Loki’s expression falls and he hunches his shoulders, nearly folding in on himself and reverting back to his usual chatty self only when they make it a few streets away. Thor makes a careful note to avoid it in the future.

Despite Thor’s best intentions, Frigga pales when she finds out about their adventures by the creek, and for several months, they’re forbidden from going there. When summer comes, she takes them both to the outdoor swimming pool, where Thor teaches Loki to swim, even though it’s raining from morning to evening. Cold and exhausted, they head back home and assemble jigsaw puzzles in the warm kitchen whilst Frigga hums by the stove. Thor doesn’t really read for fun, but for Loki’s sake, he allows Frigga to persuade him to dig out his old reading books from first grade. Together, they sound through the words until Loki knows them as well as Thor does, and they move on to second grade.  
With July, proper warmth arrives, and the rest of the summer is filled with bicycle rides, swimming until they’re exhausted, and filling up on the lunch Frigga packed while soaking in the summer sun. The school books lie forgotten in a pile under the kitchen bench.

They aren’t rich during those first war years, but they’re not poor either, and thanks to Frigga’s mother’s garden outside of town, they’re supplied with plenty of fruit, and preserves in winter. It doesn’t hurt that with another mouth to feed, they get additional rationing coupons for milk and meat. Under Frigga’s watchful eyes, Loki grows less thin and hollow-eyed by the day. The first time he lays his eyes on the thick slices of molasses bread topped with raspberry jam, Thor thinks Loki’s eyes might fall out of his head, they’re so large. Still, Loki hesitates to eat, so Thor smiles and takes a large bite of his own bread as a means of encouragement. Loki follows suit, then closes his eyes to savor the taste. He looks like he’s eating something far more luxurious than an ordinary jam sandwich, but when Thor asks Frigga later, she tells him that something that is common to Thor must feel entirely different to Loki, who has been almost starving for so long. The longest Thor has had to go hungry is a long afternoon when he lost track of time and arrived late to lunch, and a worried and disgruntled Frigga had made him wait for dinner to teach him a lesson. His stomach had grumbled, sure, and the lesson had been learned, but he had filled up on potatoes and fish at dinner and that had been that. Mum has told him that in Finland, the war has destroyed harvests and many children have to go to bed with empty stomachs. It’s horrible enough to think about already, but the thought of Loki, _his_ Loki, going to bed hungry day upon day, something dark and terrible squeezes his heart.

* * *

It takes a long time for Thor to notice it, because for the first weeks - no, months - that Loki stays with them, he’s a model of good behaviour. He stands up straight and sits down when appropriate, he nods his head and, once he learns the words, says “yes, Sir,” and “yes, Ma’am” when spoken to by adults. He’s such a perfect little model of politeness in the presence of adults that Thor swallows the lie as well, despite the fact that the Loki he sees on their afternoon adventures by the creek and in the parks is an almost entirely different boy.

But then. When old Mrs Andersson finds a dead rat in her parlor. When the janitor, who shouts at the boys even when they haven’t put a toe out of line, finds his shoelaces tied together and falls on his face. When the peacocky teenage boys picking up girls by the cafe get back to their bicycles and find their tires flattened, Loki is smiling at Thor in secret. Thor never quite figures out how he does it, because Loki can never be conclusively tied to any of the events. As the years pass, his tricks grow more elaborate and less slapstick, but although Thor gets better at recognizing Loki’s work, it’s always that telltale impish grin that confirms his suspicions. Sometimes Loki is less lucky, and they have to run laughing from whatever chaos they’ve wrought, and at the very odd occasion they are caught and given a stern talking to by Frigga. At night, when they’re supposed to be sleeping already, he always asks Loki just how he accomplished the mischief of the day, but never seems to get any satisfactory answer. But for many years, he gets to cherish the impish smile that indicates that Loki has got away with something again. Until he doesn’t, or perhaps it’s until he forgets to look for it.

Not everything, however, is fine once they have to venture out of their private little summer kingdom and into the real world, and to school. Loki doesn’t say a word, and he doesn't have any bruises, so neither Thor nor Frigga notice a thing. Instead, it’s Sif who sidles up to Thor one lunch break in fourth grade, when Loki has been with them for almost two years, grabs his arm and drags him to the other side of the football field before anyone can see.

“Now, I’m not a tattletale,” she starts, although it’s clear as day that she’s about to tattle. “But I think you should know. You know Bengt?” Thor does, vaguely; Bengt is a year younger than him, in Loki and Sif’s year, and lives far enough away from their building that they don’t play regularly outside of school. Thor nods.

“Well, him and his friends have been following Loki after school. They used to just, you know, call him names from a distance and stuff, but the last few weeks they’ve been getting worse. I would do something, but he’s much bigger than me, I can’t beat him on my own, and besides, I already got a talking-to from Miss Lindgren for fighting.” Sif is Thor’s height, but as lanky as a willow where Thor - and Bengt - is bulky. Still, Thor has seen her carry herself remarkably well in a fistfight, and not just for a girl. She could probably take on Fandral and come out the winner. Bengt is another matter; he’s strong for his age, almost as strong as Thor. Almost. Thor sees red thinking about bullies laying as much as a finger on Loki, and he clenches his teeth.  
“You’d back me up, though?” he asks Sif. She nods. They devise a plan.

The following Tuesday, Thor’s last class is art. Loki has geography, and gets out a full forty minutes earlier, so Thor makes a show of holding his stomach and trying to seem generally under the weather from the beginning of the class. Fifteen minutes in, he tells the teacher he isn’t feeling well, and asks to go home. He holds his breath that she won’t send him to the nurse instead, and he’s in luck. Once out of the school, he hurries past the schoolyard and onto the sidewalk. Past the hedges, he waits until he can hear the voices of Bengt and his friends, their tone exaggerated and mocking. Loki is walking quickly, his head down and back tense. His tormentors are following quickly, though, and soon they’ve caught up with him.

“The Finn brat doesn’t answer when I ask him questions,” singsongs Bengt to his friend. “What do ya think we should do about that?” The crony has made a grab for Loki’s book bag, and none of them have noticed Thor, who’s now in full view in front of them.  
“I don’t know,” says Thor, “what are you going to do?”  
Bengt turns. If he’s frightened, or at all deterred, he doesn’t let it show.  
“Look, the little coward has his big brother looking out for him. How cute.”  
Thor leans his head back and smiles, crosses his arms.  
“Fighting words, coming from you. Do you always gang up three on one?”  
When Bengt is looking at his friends, whose names Thor still can’t for the life of him remember, Thor dares to throw a glance at Loki. He looks surprised and apprehensive but not too scared, his eyes darting from Thor to the bullies and then back to Thor again.  
“Look,” says Thor, “you stay the hell away from my brother or you’ll get a beating.”  
“Like you could! I bet you’d both go crying to your mum!”  
Pointless posturing, but Thor has had enough, and this kid needs to be taught a lesson. Bengt doesn’t see the first punch coming, and it hits the side of his face. He backs away, hand to his mouth, and the first crony makes a move towards Thor, who pushes him in the chest. He loses balance and stumbles backwards into the hedge, allowing Thor to focus back on Bengt. They exchange a few blows, but Thor soon finds that although Bengt is strong, Thor is faster and more accurate. Mid-fight, he notes that Sif has shown up and is making quick work of dealing with the second crony. He and Bengt are tussling on the ground when Thor finally gets the upper hand, gives Bengt a final shove, and stands up.

“You’re going to leave him alone from now on,” he says, as he’s watching Bengt struggle to his feet.  
Bengt is bleeding from the mouth and is limping as he moves. He doesn’t meet Thor’s eyes, but he nods and then goes the other way, abandoned by his friends. Sif walks up to Thor, who has been joined by Loki.  
“You won’t get in more trouble, will you?,” Thor asks her.  
She shakes her head, wiping her hands on her skirt and grinning. “Nah. No major scratches on me, and he won’t tell, he’d die before letting anyone know he’s been beaten by a girl.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Loki says as he’s digging out ice from the icebox to put on Thor’s fat lip. Frigga is at the butcher's and will hopefully not be home for another half-hour; Thor will have time to change into clean clothes and wash the grime off his face before she sees him. As if reading his mind, Loki continues, “mum will be mad when she finds out.”  
“But dad won’t.” Loki winces, and Thor hurries to elaborate, “I won’t tell him _why_ we fought. I promise. And I am pretty sure looking out for you is exactly what I’m supposed to do. It’s what brothers do.” This awards him a small smile from Loki, his first that afternoon. Thor smiles back and immediately regrets it when he’s reminded of the state of his lip.

Thor is right about both mum and dad. He stays out of Frigga’s line of sight until Odin comes home from work and they sit down for supper. His father gives him a stern look over his sausages and potatoes.  
“Fighting, have we?”, Odin asks, gesturing with his fork. He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Not about something silly, I hope?”  
“No, dad.”  
“And did you win?”  
“Yeah.”  
Odin nods approvingly, swallows another mouthful of food, and that’s the last anyone hears of it at all. Bengt doesn’t bother Loki again, nor does anyone else.

Loki may not be a fighter, but Thor knows he has his own pride. In the speed in which he absorbs the information he reads, hears, sees. In the sureness of his hand when drawing. In his ability to escape being caught for his pranks. And most of all, in the mask he has started wearing almost all the time in public these days, the placid face that betrays no emotion. When he’s home alone with Thor, when they tell each other stories before they go to sleep, is almost the only time he lets that mask go.

Odin gets a promotion at the bank and they move to a new flat - a brand new flat, in a brand new building, at that - when Thor is twelve and Loki is eleven. Not only does it have a new, rational, kitchen, one that Frigga doesn’t have to work as hard at keeping clean, but an indoor bathroom. And it doesn’t even end there, they now have an extra bedroom. Suddenly, the boys have a whole room to themselves, and two proper murphy beds that they fold down from the wall every night. Thor won’t admit it out loud, but he almost misses the nights when Loki would sneak into his narrow bed, and they would sleep entwined, a tangle of limbs and knees and elbows. Still, they whisper, about their day and their games and the news long after the lights are turned out and they’re supposed to be sleeping.

Other than their beds, there’s room for a closet and chest of drawers for their clothes, and for a desk by the window. Odin takes the boys to the big furniture shop by the square to pick one out. They feel almost like proper adults, studying at the desk, the neat little desk lamp in brass and green that uncle Frey sent them lighting up the room. Frigga has hung new curtains as well, and as they draw them at night, they have a space that is just theirs. Outside in the kitchen, their parents are doing their evening chores, Frigga doing the washing-up and Odin shining his shoes, to the sound of the radio. Outside in the world, there is still a war raging. But inside Thor and Loki’s room it’s calm, the sounds and the sights of the world muffled and hidden. They tell stories until their eyes are falling shut, and then they sleep, safe until morning.

* * *

The war ends, and Thor is terrified. He’s scared that someone will come and take Loki away from them, from him, but he’s even more terrified that Loki will be glad to go. He never talks about his family in Finland, even at his saddest, and Thor can’t tell if it's because he misses them or because he doesn’t, and he doesn’t dare ask. For a time, life goes on as normal. Food is still rationed. Autumn comes and goes. In December, the artificial lake is already frozen over and they go ice skating every Saturday until Christmas, and sometimes after school on weekdays. At New Year’s, the boys get to stay up until midnight to hear the cathedral bells toll. Odin and Frigga toast in sparkling wine, and Thor and Loki get glasses of soda pop. They cheer that 1946 begins in peacetime and Thor has a stubborn hard lump in his throat that he tries to swallow around. It stays in place until April, when they come home from school one day to find a stranger in their front room. Prim and proper in her grey wool suit, she says that she’s from the Bureau for Aid to Finland. All the air is sucked out of the room and Thor can’t breathe, has to fight back tears. This is it. This is the last time he’ll ever see his brother.

But that’s not what happens.

Instead, she tells Loki that he no longer has any living immediate family. That there’s a second cousin still alive, but Odin and Frigga have been given the option to adopt him permanently, and that they have decided to do so. Presumably, the process is more complicated, but it’s all handled by the grownups and the boys are sent outside. When the last paperwork is signed the following month, Odin, in a rare display of magnanimity, takes them all out to dinner at a restaurant.

By the time they return home, it’s late, and the boys are sent to bed. Thor doesn’t know what to think. On the one hand, once the fear of losing Loki forever is gone, he is nearly overcome with curiosity of exactly how Loki came to be his brother in the first place. On the other, he knows that it isn’t something Loki has ever chosen to talk about before, so why would today be different? He reluctantly bites his tongue. The right words would be hard enough to find, but he so wants to know.  
  
“What were they like?” is what he finally asks into the darkness, and when Loki doesn’t answer, he clarifies, “your family in Finland, when you were little?”  
  
“Not too bad, most of the time,” is Loki’s initial response. Then, after a pause: “I think they were glad to see me go. Or relieved, at least. We didn’t have much food, or much of anything, one less mouth to feed must have been nice.”  
Thor stays silent. He can hear the tremble in Loki’s voice and knows that if he interrupts now, even for comfort, he’ll never hear the rest. Loki will just keep it locked up inside him like he does everything else, and unlike bullies, Thor can’t fistfight memories, as much as he’d like to.  
“We moved the first time when I was little, maybe six? We had to leave our farm in Karelia, because the Russians were coming. We were living in these barracks, I guess. I had two brothers…”  
Thor holds his breath. It feels wrong and he struggles with the thought of Loki having any brothers who aren’t him. His affection for Loki is possessive and sharing feels backwards, goes against all that he knows. Still, he maintains his silence.  
“… I don’t really remember them. They were much older than me, twins, they were already grownups when we left the farm. They went off to fight the Russians, I think. “  
Another silence follows. Thor can hear Loki’s shallow, irregular breaths, and then they’re drowned out by a car driving by on the street below. Another long pause, more shaky breaths. Perhaps he ought to say something, after all. Then Loki speaks again, his voice small and trembling and it aches in Thor.

“I think we weren’t supposed to stay in the barracks very long. I remember it got so cold in the winter that my fingers turned blue indoors even when I was wearing my big coat.” Another pause, briefer this time. “Then one day, _äiti_ took me to the train station. There were all of these other kids there, and we were all given signs with our names on them to hang around our neck. And äiti hugged me and told me to be good, and the train just… drove off. After the train, there was a boat. A lot of the kids were sea sick, but the Red Cross nurses were nice, even though I didn’t understand what they said, and once we were on the boat there was food.” Thor doesn’t take his eyes off Loki in the half-darkness, scared that anything less than his full attention will cause him to grow quiet again. But Loki shows no indication of stopping, the words keep coming as if he’s powerless to stop them.  
“Then I think there was another train, we were given new clothes at some point, I don’t remember all of it. Some of the sick kids had to step off and go to hospital. And then the train stopped at the station and all these adults were there. They picked up all the little kids first, I thought no one would come to get me when mum and dad showed up.” Loki has paused between each thought, clearly gathering himself together, but the last sentence takes a long time to finish as Loki stops several times to swallow or clear his throat. Then he’s quiet again, clearly done.

Thor has heard enough. He knows he’s not supposed to, he knows they’re too old, and that dad would be cross if he knew, but he finds that he doesn’t care. He climbs out of his bed and makes his way over the floor to Loki’s. Loki hesitates at first, but then he moves and makes room. Thor doesn’t know what to say, he just climbs in, pulls the covers over them, and makes himself as comfortable as he can. The bed is smaller than it used to feel just a year ago, but after some fiddling, they both have enough space. Thor puts one arm around Loki’s waist and thinks about the skinny little boy he met for the first time in the entryway of their old flat. It doesn’t feel like a mere five years ago. It feels like Loki and him have been entangled like this forever, like they will be forever, Loki’s hair against Thor’s, his sides rising and falling as his trembling breaths slowly steady and turn sleepy. They fall asleep in a tangle like they used to when they were small, and if Frigga finds them like that when she comes to wake them up in the morning, she doesn’t tell anyone.

Everything comes at a cost, though. That’s the first and last time Loki tells Thor anything about his life before arriving at their doorstep, and it’s the last time they sleep in one bed.

* * *

Two things happen that Christmas that feel fundamental and important to the boys’ lives; one at the time, the other, in retrospect.

The first is that Odin doesn’t go directly home after he gets out of the bank at lunchtime on Christmas Eve, but stops by the post office first. When he arrives home, he’s carrying a large box of oranges. They spend the rest of the Christmas holidays shoving orange wedges in their mouths whenever they get a chance; it’s such a brilliant treat, getting to enjoy fresh fruit in the dead of winter. In theory, Thor knows well enough that there are parts of the world where it’s summer now, but staring out the window at the tumbling snow whilst Loki is reading on the couch, he’s still having a hard time imagining it. Everything is frozen out there, the skeletal trees covered in a thin layer of frost and the ground frozen solid and dead. The chilly wind that howls past their building prevents even Thor from wanting to go outside.

The second event is that Loki is given _The Long Ships_ by Frans G. Bengtsson for Christmas in a set of lovely hardbacks. He gets started on them that very evening, and although Thor is just as excited by the stories about battles and faraway kings as Loki is in the beginning, he starts losing interest as Loki continues reading. It’s as if his brother has cracked some sort of code or ventured to some foreign land, and as soon as he finishes the second book, he goes through Odin’s and Frigga’s book collection for more. Frigga likes to joke that since that day, it has been almost impossible to catch Loki without a book in his hands, and what started in novels continues in his school work. Once thoroughly submerged in the world of books, Loki slowly but surely rises to the top of his class in most subjects. He has an easy lead in Swedish, English and German, has to work hard for his top marks in maths, and genuinely enjoys art. It’s only in penmanship, wood crafts and gymnastics that he lags at all, and even then he stays above average.

That Christmas holiday, though, their days are full of adventure stories and oranges. The fruit is a great deal of bother to peel, but well worth it when the process is done with and they can stuff themselves with the sweet, juicy wedges. Thor never quite broke his childhood habit of observing Loki when he’s eating, and even as he’s shoving oranges into his own mouth, he takes note of the thoughtful, deliberate way his brother breaks off the wedges one by one, deliberately removing the little white threads, and once he eats, thoughtfully savor each mouthful with eyes closed before swallowing and grabbing another.  
So goes the Christmas holiday. When it gets too cold and dark, they hide under a blanket with a flashlight and read aloud to each other about how Red Orm encounters the great Al-Mansur and king Knut, until Frigga tells them that holiday or no holiday, it’s time to turn the lights off and go to sleep.

* * *

Puberty hits them both like a ton of bricks, although in radically different ways. Thor’s last remaining childhood pudge melts away in favor of muscle that seems to come out of nowhere, although the bike rides, the hikes out in the forest with Odin, and the swims in the outdoor pool each do their part. It doesn’t end there, either; over just one summer, he surpasses both Sif and Fandral in height. He’s too old to have fistfights with the other boys now, but he doesn’t need to; his very figure is imposing enough.

Loki, on the other hand, grows only height-wise. Thor is secretly relieved that he isn’t leaving his brother behind in every respect. Still, Loki’s stature is more of the beanpole variety, all knees and elbows and awkwardness. Although he does eventually gain a sort of effortless, lithe grace that Thor’s bulk could never afford, it takes him years of ill-fitting shirts and overly belted trousers to reach that point.  
Odin grumbles and blames the books, says that Loki would be sturdier if he just spent more time outside in the fresh air, although the truth is that he gets plenty of air; they still play football in Fandral’s building’s courtyard with the neighborhood boys, they still go to the park down by the creek, although they don’t climb the trees anymore. And Loki grows even quieter than when he was a child. Oftentimes, when Thor sneaks into their bedroom after arriving home late at night, he finds Loki awake but silent, his quiet gaze discomfiting as Thor goes to bed. The pale lines of his throat, whether he is reading or just thinking, reminds Thor of nothing as much as the statues in the school lobby, plaster copies of ancient marble originals. Loki doesn’t talk to him, those nights. Loki’s nastier tricks, which used to be reserved for bullies and the worst of the teachers, seems to spread out at random at the rare occasion that he has time for something other than his books, and more than once Thor finds himself the target.

  
Thor reads for his Confirmation the year he’s fourteen. On the whole, he doesn’t dislike it all that much. It’s more time spent in classes and church, but Fandral is reading that year as well, as is Amora, and her melodious voice and the swing of her pale blonde hair as she moves certainly doesn’t make the classes worse, nor does the fact that she’s looking less like a girl and more like a woman by the day. Oh, Thor is well aware that girls ought to be the last of his concerns when studying for his religious betterment, but he tries to be subtle enough not to let it show. He learns his bible verses and hymns well, only to promptly forget them after the examination. Overall, his fourteenth year is a time of camaraderie, and after the ceremony in the cathedral is over, Odin and Frigga have aunts and uncles and old family friends over for coffee and pastries. Odin gives Thor a new watch, a gift for a young man, no longer a boy, and he solemnly promises to be careful with it.  
.  
When it’s Loki’s turn, Thor relies on Sif to keep him informed in case of anything untoward going on, but he hears nothing. Instead, he often arrives home to find Loki sitting on his bed, either reading the Bible or his hymnal, or staring out into the air. Thor has learned at this point that it’s only him, and possibly Frigga, who gets to see this expression on Loki’s face. It’s bewildering, for all the calm confidence that Loki exudes in public, to see his lips tight, his brow furrowed, his arms around his knees. Whatever goes on inside of his head clearly makes him uncomfortable, but it happens rarely enough that Thor doesn’t let it bother _him_ ; he doesn’t ask questions. He never asks questions. Later, he’ll ask himself whether this was what ultimately led them astray.

  
But there and then, they’re fourteen and fifteen and once their lights are out and the room is lit only by a thin stripe of moonlight finding its way in between the blinds, Thor can hear Loki’s breathing across the room, too irregular to indicate sleep.  
“Do you believe in God?” Loki finally asks, into the darkness.  
“I… think so?” Is Thor’s initial response. It’s not something he’s spent a particular amount of thought on. Religion is like schoolwork, something to be endured and not dwelled upon. “I mean, I’m not that religious?” He hasn’t been to church since the beginning of Advent the previous year, with school, and hasn’t had a thought to go for any reason. Perhaps Loki thinks that Thor’s experience from the previous year will somehow lend him expertise. “Why do you ask?”  
“I’m just having such a hard time putting all together. An all-powerful God, but you know what the world looks like.”  
Thor blinks. “Oooh, I remember the answer to this one. Free will.”  
“That’s just it, it’s just a formula answer.” Loki is starting to sound frustrated. “And anyway, I don’t feel like I have free will. I still have to obey dad and the teachers and… and I’m not even in charge of my own feelings anyway.” His last words sound muffled, spoken more into the pillow than at Thor. “If we have wicked thoughts that come unbidden, ones we didn’t ask for, whose fault is that?”  
Thor, whose own anger still threatens to carry him away from time to time, white-hot and terrible, understands that part well. “I’m not sure. I think… I think we’re supposed to rise above wicked thought, or something. Don’t ask me how.”  
“Hmphf.” Loki sounds far from satisfied, but his sheets rustle. He seems to settle in for sleep.

Loki’s Confirmation ceremony is in the cathedral the following May. His voice indicates no hesitation, carries with confidence throughout the room as he answers the vicar’s questions. There is another reception, with aunts and uncles eating finger sandwiches in their Sunday best, and none of them mention God again outside of school.

* * *

It’s Christmas break during Thor’s second year of gymnasiet and Loki’s first. They’re properly snowed in until the snow ploughs come around, and Thor can’t quite settle down. It isn’t just the weather that’s bothering him; for the last few months he’s felt like a tiger in a cage. It’s as if the air in their flat is choking him, and he can’t figure out why. Loki’s temper isn’t helping; the added burden of a new level of school, whilst staying on top of his class, is making his brother tetchy and snappish.  
But right now, Loki is in the big armchair, reading his old worn copy of _The Long Ships_ , every so often raising his eyes from the text to glare at Thor -who’s pacing up and down the sitting room - as he’s turning the pages.  
“We should go camping!” Thor exclaims, the idea born as he’s speaking it. It’s a good idea. It’s a great idea. He only gets a raised eyebrow and a glance out the window in response, but laughs. “Now now! This summer, I mean. Once school lets out. It’ll be the last year before I leave for university, we can ride our bikes up to uncle Frey’s and stay overnight, then ride on to Kolmården forest the next day, set up a tent by a lake. Be away from things. Relax.”  
At first, his brother doesn’t respond. He knows that Loki has never been as fond of the outdoors as he and Odin are, but surely he can feel cooped up too, on days like this? And to go away properly, alone, not just stay near town and with Odin, makes it more of an adventure than a chore. Slowly, after a long pause, Loki nods. “Alright. If I agree, will you promise to stop pacing like an animal?”  
Thor promptly sits down on the sofa to illustrate just how willing he is to bargain. Loki smiles and returns to his book, deal sealed, and Thor leans back, more relaxed with a clear goal to get him through the winter months. They’ll be okay. The tensions brought about by school will fade, and they’ll be friends again, like when they were kids cooped up under a blanket. And speaking of that…

“Read me the bit about the Yule feast.”  
“Thor! You literally ate a full Christmas meal not two full days ago. We’re still having leftovers. How can you even think about heavy food?” Loki sounds either incredulous or exasperated or both.  
“Are you going to read it or not?”  
“I thought you didn’t do recreational reading?”  
“But I won’t be reading. You will. And anyway, I thought ’ _simplistic adventure stories without depth or greater literary value_ ’ were beneath you these days,” he shoots back.  
Loki sighs theatrically, but he opens his book again and clears his throat.   
_“Forty-eight swine, well fed on acorns, was what King Harald was in the habit of having slaughtered at Yule. He used to say that if that wasn’t enough for the whole feast, it was least a good-sized piece for each and everyone, and after that, one had to to be satisfied with mutton and beef…”_

* * *

It’s not as though Loki is an outsider anymore. He is Thor’s brother, and everyone likes Thor; that’s just the way things work. Besides, he’s far from the newest kid at their school anymore. Once the war ended, new kids started moving in every term, farm kids whose parents have moved into town to work at the car factory. And yet Loki prefers his books to friends. Oh, there are a few of his classmates he seem to enjoy socializing with at school, and when Thor manages to persuade him, he’ll accompany his brother, Fandral, and Sif on more or less well advised adventures. They spend afternoons and evenings at cafes, and sometimes he’ll even come along to dances in the summer. He’ll share a smoke with them leaning against the wall outside of Willfors Cafe, though he very rarely comes inside for a cup of coffee after. But he doesn’t often seek them out. When Thor runs into him in town, he’s almost always alone, and he spends his evenings at home studying or reading novels. Despite the irritation that is more or less a constant between them, Loki makes a peaceful picture, long limbs curled up in the corner of the sofa, a book on his lap and the record playing the Threepenny Opera softly from its place in the bookshelf. There’s something compelling and homey about it.  
Thor slams the door on the way out.

* * *

School does let out eventually, although it felt like it never would. The last exam is over, and they all gather in the cathedral one Friday in the beginning of June, when the lilacs are blooming and the sun is starting to provide warmth in earnest. It’s Thor’s last end-of-spring-term celebration before graduation and it’s not without nostalgia that he joins the chorale of students. _Now comes a time for flowers…_ He can’t wait. Flowers, fresh forest air, and no other human for miles. Well, other than Loki. He hopes, perhaps with more optimism than the situation warrants, that they can use the camping trip to mend what’s left of their relationship before it’s too late.  
That evening, they all make up their respective excuses and meet up near the creek, even Loki joins them. Fandral has snuck out some liquor and they all laugh and joke as they pass the bottle around the group. Well, that’s until Amora and one of the other waitresses joins them. Loki sours up considerably at that point, eventually takes off quietly, and is already asleep by the time Thor gets home. He doesn’t even stir as Thor is stumbling around in the room, tipsily undressing and collapsing into bed.

The boys start their summer holiday. Their camping trip is the first planned activity, as Odin doesn’t have time off from the bank until July, and they pack up the evening before they leave for a week in the forest. Practical shirts for summer, and warm sweaters for the evening, as although dusk won’t come until around midnight, it will still be chilly among the trees. It’s early summer yet. Frigga packs them sandwiches and fruit in paper bags, pieces of cheese each wrapped in cloth for the trip up, and canned food for the rest of the stay. When no one is looking, Thor finds his metal flask and sneaks a healthy amount from one of Odin’s bottles of aquavit. After all, it’s their holiday. If Odin finds out at all, they’ll be long gone by then, and it will be another week before they’re back. He doesn’t dare fill the flask all the way, though, nor does he take any of the more expensive whiskey. Finally, the boys get Odin’s old tent out of storage and set it up in their building’s courtyard to test it; it’s a four-person tent and technically a lot larger than what they need, but it’s all they have. Once Thor decrees that it is serviceable, they fold it back up again. Their packs won’t be light, but they should be manageable, and they’ll be comfortable for the whole week, especially if they catch some fish. Thor sleeps the jittery sleep of anticipation, or maybe it’s nerves.

  
They reach uncle Frey’s house just after lunchtime, but he has cold potatoes and fried fish set up for them anyway, with berries and cream for afters. As they chat amicably over food, Thor and Loki are both making a concerted effort to stay civil with one another. It’s easier when they’re not at home, anyway. Frey’s windows are all open to the summer air, the white linen curtains swaying gently in the breeze, the smell of lilacs and apple blossoms from the garden wafting into the kitchen where they sit. Thor has always loved it at uncle Frey’s house. When he was a child, it was a welcome refuge from Odin’s stern voice, the constant noise and bustle of town, and their small flat. He could play for hours in the garden, pretending he was a mighty general leading an army of warriors made of rocks and pinecones. But that was when he was little, before everything. Before school, before the war. But also before Loki. Even when they’re as much at odds as they’ve ever been, he cannot regret having Loki for a brother.

Loki, for this part, loves uncle Frey’s library. As he starts absent-mindedly browsing the shelves after coffee, Thor and Frey’s conversation turns to university. It’s only a year away for him now, and Frey, an academic at heart if not by profession, is curious about his plans. And the thing is, Thor doesn’t know exactly what they are. He’ll go, of course he’ll go, but if he has to be honest, he’s more excited about student clubs and parties than he is about classes. Books are Loki’s domain.

But when they’re lying wrapped in blankets on the floor and waiting to fall asleep, later that night, he still tells Loki about his plans. Where he thinks he’ll live. Volstagg has written him about the classes and professors and clubs, and Thor had a decent idea of what his life could be like. Of course it won’t be as much fun, he hastens to add, as he’s eager to try to mend the rift between them, for the first year, until Loki arrives.

Loki is silent for a long time. Too long. When he responds, it’s slowly, tentatively.  
“Mum and I have been talking. I might not be going to Uppsala.”  
“Lund, then?” Thor asks, with a sinking feeling in his stomach. It will be a bore, not having his brother nearby. But by train, Lund isn’t that far away. A couple of hours. It can be done a few times per term, if Thor wants to. And he does. Now that school is out, now that he’s free if only for a few months, he can’t wait to leave Katedralskolan and all of Linköping behind forever. To start anew without old baggage dragging them down, to be brothers like they used to be brothers. To be friends.  
But Loki is still quiet. Much, much too quiet. The soft ticking of uncle Frey’s grandfather clock is filling the room, tick by tock, second by second, until there is no space left for air.  
“Headmaster Lindquist thinks… That is, we’re thinking, if we have the money, and mum has been putting away extra savings—”  
“Where, Loki?”  
“Oxford, possibly. Or maybe the Sorbonne.”

It isn’t fair of Thor to feel deflated. Loki is brilliant, he deserves to grow, to be among people as gifted and driven as him. But Thor had plans. It has been more than ten years since he’s been without his brother for more than a few days. And now Loki tells him that he has his own plans in place, plans that don’t involve Thor at all. It’s a kick in the teeth. Thor doesn’t know what to say, so he says nothing. He closes his eyes, and eventually sleep does come in the bright summer night.

* * *

When the tent is up and secured, Thor collapses on his back onto the moss-covered forest floor. His arms hurt. His back hurts. He’s pretty sure there are at least twelve pebbles in his left shoe. He just wants to lie there until the sound of the wind in the trees and the song of the birds has drawn every last bit of tension in his body. To his left, Loki is still reading, cool and collected as always, seemingly untouched by the day’s toil. Feeling utterly disgusted by his own sweaty form, Thor is suddenly furious with Loki and his sullen silences. All it takes is another glare over the book for him to explode. He strides over to pull the book from Loki’s hands and drops it on the ground. Loki is on his feet in half a moment and in his anger, Thor steps between his brother and the book.

Loki stills, so unlike himself and so much like a frightened animal that Thor falters. Blinking, he realizes he’s still holding the mallet in one hand, and lets go of it, watches as it falls to the forest floor. Loki’s gaze follows it, and then a change comes over him. When he looks back at Thor his nostrils are flaring, his chest heaving.

"What are you, a coward?” he snarls. “Weren’t you going to use that? Pick it back up!” When Thor does nothing of the kind, Loki’s voice rises in agitation.

“Isn’t it enough to you that I rode my bicycle all the way to Frey’s house, then all the way to the middle of the forest, then trekked thought more fucking forest for half a day to get here? What am I supposed to do, _thank_ you? Plead with you to let me help with this idiotic endeavor? Entirely bend to your will?”

Loki is, Thor realizes, more scared than anything else, and in an effort to appease him, Thor tries to say something, anything. He holds his hands out but no sound comes out of his mouth.

Loki turns and leaves. Without looking back, he takes off westward thought the undergrowth, towards the lake. For a for seconds or two after he’s out of sight, Thor can still hear twigs breaking and branches being pulled aside. Then all is quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The Finnish Winter War (Finska Vinterkriget) refers to a conflict at the beginning of WWII, between Finland and the Soviet Union 1939- 1940. While the general Swedish population was very pro helping Finland, the Swedish government wanted to remain neutral. Add in issues regarding funding from the US and UK, and the end result was the evacuation of approximately 70 000 children from their families in Finland to Sweden over the course of WWII. Kids as young as two were sent on their own, with just name tags around their neck and the clothes on their back, to a foreign country. Some kids were sent back then the war ended, some stayed; some had been so young when they were sent away that they no longer remembered their family or language. Overall, the “Finnish war children” and their families dealt with a great deal of trauma and guilt into adult age, and using evacuation as a solution is considered a mistake.
> 
> 2\. Odin and Frigga’s housing situation is typical for the time and place and of the middle class. Urban dwellings in Sweden were generally small unless you were _very_ well off until the 1960s building boom. I modeled both of their flats from my mother’s childhood homes; like Odin in the story, my grandfather worked at a bank.
> 
> 3\. The hymn in the title (numbered as in the 1937 hymnal, which is the one they would be using at the time the story takes place, in the early fifties) is called _Den blomstertid nu kommer_ (translated as _Now comes the time for flowers_ ) and has been sung at the end-of-spring-term celebrations in Sweden for the last century; if you only sing the first verse, it isn’t even noticeably religious:  
>  _Now comes a time for flowers  
>  with great joy and beauty  
> you approach, sweet summer  
> when grasses and crops grow  
> With a kind and lively warmth  
> towards everything that used to be dead  
> the rays of the sun grow nearer  
> and everything is reborn._
> 
> 4\. "more of the beanpole variety" is, of course, Hiddleston's description of himself. It delighted me so it goes here.
> 
> [come say hi on tumblr! I'm onaa-tumbls there.](https://onaa-tumbls.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki is curled up on a flat rock face, arms wrapped around his knees. He looks so much younger than usual with the breeze playing with his black hair. Pale and lithe, almost translucent, like something from an old fairy tale. Thor doesn’t know what to say. He feels as if he approaches in the wrong manner, says the wrong words, his brother will dissolve like mist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I apologize, I should have added the complete set of tag when I first published this. If the last major tag bothers you, please go to the end notes to read more and see if you still want to read this chapter.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Thank you so much everyone for all the lovely comments! I am so happy it seems to have worked for people, especially with the odd setting.

Thor blinks. His first urge is to rush after Loki, but he can’t seem to make his legs move. He just stands there, shocked, staring after his brother as he disappears among the tall trees. Heart beating fast, feeling riled up as if he had just sprinted a race, not knowing what to do. 

Slowly, bit by bit, Thor forces his breathing to slow down to normal. He could kick himself, he’s a complete and utter idiot. That first impulse, to rush after Loki, is still dominant, but he forces it down. Loki is skittish like a spooked horse when under stress; to go to him without a plan does nothing good. But Thor isn’t a planner. Of the two of them, Loki is the planner, the strategist, the thinker. Loki thinks, Thor does. Still, he needs his wits about him now. He takes another steadying breath. On an impulse, he rummages around his bag and pulls out the flask. If nothing else, he can use it as a bargaining chip. Several long moments later, he starts making his way through the forest in the direction Loki disappeared. 

When he reaches the lakeside, he can’t see Loki anywhere. The water is calm and quiet in the late afternoon breeze, but there’s no sign anyone has been here; the shoreline is too rocky to give away footprints. Thor considers himself brave; he never hesitates before taking the leap from the highest tower at the pool, has held speeches before his entire year without letting his voice tremble, is the first to walk up and ask a pretty girl to dance. But as his eyes scan the rocky shoreline and the dark edge of the forest, without any trace of human life, he grows cold with fear. His heart is hammering in his chest, his mouth tastes like sand. Speeding up, he rounds a small cliff, and finally spots his brother down by the water. 

Loki is curled up on a flat rock face, arms wrapped around his knees. He looks so much younger than usual with the breeze playing with his black hair. Pale and lithe, almost translucent, like something from an old fairy tale. Thor doesn’t know what to say. He feels as if he approaches in the wrong manner, says the wrong words, his brother will dissolve like mist. Again, he says nothing.  
After standing around awkwardly for a minute, he sits down on the cliff as well, careful to stay far enough away as not to crowd Loki. He is all at once relieved and acutely aware that he has fucked up, and bad, for Loki to be upset enough not to be able to hide it. Perhaps the remoteness of the location and the exhaustion from the hike has something to do with it, but the fact remains that it has been years since Thor has seen Loki display anything stronger than mild irritation in the presence of others. Even when they’ve been fighting, he goes for sneering disdain before any physical response.

They sit there, staring out over the placid lake and the forest on the other side. The water is dark, probably very cold still, even if the early summer air is warm. Loki hasn’t said anything, and Thor still can’t think of any kind of reasonable opener, so they’re at an impasse. The water clucks slowly against the cliffs, some ducks are swimming near the reeds; a mother trailed by several downy ducklings.

Not being able to think of anything else to do, Thor hands Loki the flask.

“Peace offering?”

After a long pause, Loki accepts it. He takes a swig, scrunching his face up at the sharp taste, but doesn’t immediately relinquish the flask back to Thor. Instead, he clenches his hand around it whilst he stares out over the water.

In the end, it’s quiet for too long and something has to be said.

“I’m sorry,” Thor starts, because he still doesn’t know what else to do. Loki doesn’t take his eyes off the water, doesn’t change his posture even a little bit.

“Are you?” he asks, “Or are you just disappointed I’m not going along with your peaceful little holiday plan?”

What can Thor possibly say in response to that?

“I just…” he shakes his head. “I miss you, you know? We used to hang out all the time, and now all you do is study and go to the library or …” this isn’t where he wants to go. He lets the rest of the sentence die on his tongue.

“We were children, Thor. You don’t really climb trees or hunt for tadpoles anymore either. You go to Willfors to buy the cheapest coffee and try to fuck Amora, and that isn’t exactly my idea of an enriched spiritual life.”  
Thor frowns, but faces away so that Loki can’t see.

“Our friends…” he tries.

“ _Your_ friends, Thor. Don’t pretend they would be friendly with me if it weren’t for you.”

“They like you!” Thor protests. Loki finally takes his eyes off the water to give Thor an unimpressed look.

“Do they? Or do they put up with me when you insist on dragging me along? Do you know what your pretty little waitress calls me when you’re not around?”

The terrible truth is that Thor has a pretty good idea, and he can't imagine the his brother has been any kinder in turn. Yet Loki has obviously given this a lot of thought. Thor squirms. He’s heard both _Finn_ _brat_ and worse, and he’s too old now to punch people who refer to Loki as _Thor’s swot brother_. He may even have laughed along once or twice. Maybe three times. Four, tops. It’s hard to stay popular if you rock the boat.

Loki shakes his head, exhales with a huff. “It doesn’t matter. Two more years and I’m out of here forever. Oh don’t worry, I’ll come back and visit every few years, I even promise to bring sweets for your and Amora’s adorable blond children.”

The last bit is spat out with particular venom. There’s too much to unpack there, not the least the Amora bits, and Thor struggles to keep up. He wants to protest that although he likes Amora just fine, he doesn’t have the slightest plan to settle down with her. She’s just a girl who works at a cafe, and he, too, will be off to university. Still, that’s not the point, is it? Or not the whole point, anyway.

“You’re just the same as dad. “ Loki continues. “You only want me around on your own terms.” The last is said quieter, a little wobblier, and the flask is quite a bit lighter when Loki finally hands it back to Thor.

“That’s not true!”, Thor protests, automatically, but as he’s saying the words, he’s not so sure. That one stings. He takes a sip to buy himself time, and Loki keeps talking.

“Oh yeah? Then why are we out here, a full day from civilization, being bitten by mosquitoes and God knows what else, sleeping on the ground? Because you suddenly _miss me_ like I wasn’t there all along?”

Thor shrugs. “You know what I mean, though. At home, there’s always something else going on. There’s school, there’s chores, there’s…” He doesn’t say “there’s dad” but he may as well have. Loki and Odin’s relationship has never been particularly good, but of late it’s reached a state of leaning towards outright hostility without quite taking the final leap. Thor can’t pinpoint exactly what the problem is, but it does nothing to improve the already fraught situation between the brothers.

“Loki—”, Thor can hear the insecurity in his own voice and inwardly winces at it. “You didn’t really think I was going to hit you?”  
Loki’s eyes don’t meet his. He’s poking absent-mindedly at a crevice in the rock.

“I don’t know. I don’t feel like I know anything about you anymore.”

And there it is again, this growing chasm. It’s not inevitable, is it? It can’t be a part of growing up that can’t be avoided, Thor won’t accept it. He moves slightly, both to attract Loki’s attention and to slowly, carefully, move further into his space.

“I couldn’t, please, trust me. I never would. I know I lose my temper sometimes, but…”

“Wouldn’t hit the smaller guy?” The usual goading. Thor sets his jaw, determined not to take the bait this time.

“You’re the same height as me.”

“Weaker, thought. It would be cowardly to hit the swot, wouldn’t it?”

Thor thinks back at Loki’s earlier words, wonders exactly what Amora has been saying to antagonize him so. If there is more talk behind Thor’s back he doesn’t know about. And like that, the target of his irritation changes from his brother to, well, everyone else.

“It would be stupid to hurt my own brother. That’s the opposite of what I’m supposed to do.”

“Touching”, says Loki dryly, but he doesn’t move away, doesn’t try to bait any further. Thor calls that a win, and decides to adjust his strategy.

“Alright. If you could decide, where would we go?” He has to struggle to keep frustration out of his voice, to have the words come out evenly and with genuine curiosity.

Loki doesn’t respond at first. He’s obviously still angry, clenching a few strands of grass that grows from another crevice in the rock beneath them.

“I’m serious,” Thor tries again, softer “If you had your pick of places to go on holiday, where would you go?”

“Excluding Paris?”

The Sorbonne. Right. Thor’s stomach twists again. “Excluding Paris, yeah. Realistically.”

Loki is still quiet, but his silence has mellowed into something less abrasive. He is still twisting the blade of grass between his fingers, although he doesn’t seem to pay it much notice.

“I mean, just Stockholm would be fun, right? Take the train up, see all the museums. Take a boat out to the archipelago. Oh, and go dancing at _Nalen_ , like we could realistically get through the door.” He snorts, not quite a laugh, but not not a laugh either. Thor nods. Yeah, it’s true that he could do without museums, but to go to a real jazz club, see real, famous jazz singers and musicians instead of whatever scraps from the bottom of the barrel that made it to their summer dances? Oh, that’s a lovely idea. He can practically feel the music pulse under his skin already.

“We’ll do it,“ he says, on impulse. Loki looks up at him, wide eyed, as if he just announced that not only was the moon made of cheese, but that Thor had the intention of plucking said cheese out of the sky and eating it whole.  
“We’ll get train tickets, I’m sure I know someone who knows someone we can stay with. If we play the museum card well enough, I’m sure mum and dad will let us.”

“They’ll know you’re not going for the museums, Thor.” Loki sounds tired more than anything else.

“Of course they will. But it will be educational and not too pricey.”

“Why are you like this all of a sudden?”

“I told you, I miss you! I didn’t… I didn’t realize how much you hated camping, truly. I just want to…” Thor shrugs helplessly. It’s hard to put into words, and Loki’s outburst earlier, his own countless misstep, have all somehow heightened the stakes.

“Why now?”

_Because you’re going to leave me behind._

“You don’t need to appease me,” Loki says when Thor doesn’t respond, his voice flat, the tension far from gone. “I’m sure everything will go back to normal as soon as we go back home, nothing to worry about.”

_I don’t think I like our normal anymore._

“I don’t want to _appease_ you. Not like that anyway. I want to… get to know you again, I guess. Before…” he pauses. Well, better say what you want to say, “before it’s too late.”

The expression on Loki’s face softens. He passes the flask back to Thor, who takes a mouthful and puts it back down on the cliff. For a very long time, they just sit there, staring over the water and occasionally having small sips of the aquavit. It’s not like the companionable silences of their childhood, but it’s not awkward or aggressive either.

“And anyway, I don’t just stay home, “ says Loki, much later. “I have friends, Thor, my own friends. I went to the pictures at Regina last week, not that you asked where I was.”  
  
Truth be told, Thor hadn’t noticed Loki was out, and if he had, had probably assumed the library as usual. Still, films are something he knows. He can do this..

“Really? What did you see?”

“ _That Can’t Happen Here_ ”

“What poor soul did you drag with you to that — no, Loki, I’m joking, I’m joking! I want to know. Really, I do.”

Loki is staring out over the water again. “I went with Sigyn.”

He knows vaguely who Sigyn is, and supposes she's pretty in a timid sort of way. A strange, possessive feeling comes over Thor. He feels crestfallen when he ought to feel proud. Masking his reaction, he hurries to paste on a smile.

“That’s great, Loki, that’s —”

“No, it’s not what you think. She isn’t… " Loki pauses. "That is, she’s a friend, that’s all. But I have to stop taking her places, she’s starting to think exactly what you’re thinking now. And like her, I don’t want to let her down.”

“There’s no special girl, though?”

Loki gives him an odd look.

“No, there’s no special girl.”

Loki’s words shouldn’t result in such a rush of relief, but they do. At least the worst of his temper is over; Thor is for once thankful for his brother’s mercurial nature.

“It’s not that I really care that much that your friends don’t like me,” Loki says, then, and Thor forces down another urge to protest. “I just prefer books to most people, you know."

“Books,” continues Loki, after a pause, as if he can tell that Thor does, in fact, not know, “are reliable and portable and don’t require scheduling. And if they’re interesting enough, they can shut my brain up when nothing else can. When I can’t sleep for all the noise in my head.”

“Can’t read in the dark, though,” says Thor, because he feels the need to stop this particular train of thought of Loki’s before he talks himself into being upset again.

“Well. Sometimes I read with a flashlight after you’ve fallen asleep. When my brain won’t shut the fuck up.”

Thor can tell his own face is signaling surprise; at himself for not waking up, not noticing, although that’s not how Loki interprets it. He laughs, but it’s without humor.

“You never have thoughts you can’t escape, can’t let go of? That just…” he takes another swig, has stopped wincing at the taste “… eats at you until there’s nothing left? Don’t you ever think thoughts you wish you hadn’t?” He hands the flask, now empty, back to Thor along with his question.

Thor pauses before he answers, both because he wants to be truthful—he thinks he can recall a similar conversation back when he was fifteen—and because he is starting to feel a little lightheaded.

“I guess… sometimes my head goes places I don’t want it to, but I can usually find something to distract me.”

“And it _works_?” Loki sounds incredulous, and Thor shrugs noncommittally. It’s true that he has an easy time ignoring troubling thoughts, and it makes sense that someone as clever as Loki, who lives so much in his own head, feels them more acutely. He has always been quiet, guarded. For not the first nor the last time, Thor thinks of the skinny child standing in the middle of the kitchen floor, lost in too-large clothes and surrounded by people whose language he doesn’t speak or understand. Now, with Loki sitting next to him on the flat cliff, hands buried in his own hair, curled up around himself, he begins to understand just how much is going on underneath that placid surface. He wants to reach out, wants to console, but is fairly sure his clumsy attempts at comfort won’t be welcome. It’s his turn to turn quiet again. The question he has been avoiding—why it’s suddenly important to console rather than ignore Loki—is making its way to the front of his mind, aided by the alcohol. He pushes it back.

“Is that why you want to move so far away?” he asks instead. Loki hesitates, then shakes his head.

“I just want to start over. I used to think, when I was little, that if I just waited long enough, tried hard enough, I would start feeling like I belonged. Like there was a place for me here. But I haven’t, I still feel like an intruder. In this country, in this town, in this family. When that lady came, do you remember? I was so relieved, I thought that maybe I’d go back and there would be this… slot, where I just fit right back in. I think I was more disappointed with finding that impossible than I was sad about my parents being dead, which is just… the fuckedupest thing to be.” He glares down at the rock face between his knees.'

“I remember,” says Thor, “I was so afraid that she had come to take you away.”

Loki looks up at him, mouth slightly open in surprise. He bites his lip for a moment, then continues.

“And anyway, I found out that it wouldn’t have done a damn thing. Going back, I mean. The little Finnish I remember, I speak like a seven-year-old, you know? So there’s no place at all for me.”

Thor wants to protest again, wants to find a way to reassure Loki that he does belong, but as with most things he wants to tell Loki, he’s not sure how.

“I’ll miss you,” is all he can think of. He means for it to sound defiant, like an argument, but it comes out sounding flat and defeated. And perhaps that’s for the best, because another little of the resolution melts off of Loki’s face. He’s usually so good at goading Thor into arguments. Knows exactly where and when to prod to get Thor worked up, only to sit back and smirk at him. It’s happened more than once this last spring, but something about today is different. Loki is never the first to raise his voice, for one, and now he just looks tired. They lapse into silence again. Loki leans back onto his hands, his gaze far away on the other shore.

Thor keeps his eyes on his brother, long enough that his thoughts start to drift and he doesn’t notice that Loki is looking back at him until he clears his throat theatrically. Thor jerks and looks away.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“You look like something out of a fairy tale.” He’s not sure if its the alcohol or something else making his head spin when he turns back to look at Loki’s surprised face. He shrugs, embarrassed, doesn’t know how to explain himself. “Like the Neck or a wood spirit or something.”

Loki grins, then. “Like I’m running around drowning people?”

Thor has a sudden vision of Loki, naked in a waterfall, his black hair long and blending with the cascades of water, an old fiddle in his hands. It somehow suits him, and is less frightening than both a lifeless marble statue deep in thought and the barely corporal creature of mist Thor imagined earlier. The real Loki laughs, now.

"I can’t play the fiddle, I can hardly even manage the piano!”

Relieved at the lighter turn of the conversation, Thor grins back.

“Bit of a shortage of fair maidens to trick into the water around these parts anyway.”   
Loki says nothing. Still, he begins to relax, the line of his shoulders no longer hold enough tension to remind Thor of a bowstring. He moves a small bit closer and gestures out over the water.

“This, though. This isn’t half bad. I like the still water, the creek at home always makes me feel even more restless. This lake lets you just… rest for a bit.”

“Isn’t it cold, though?” Thor asks, and suddenly there’s a lot more than water on his mind. Just talking to Loki without a goal in mind is a new thing, a kind of conversation they haven’t tried before. There’s always something he wants, or something Loki wants, or schoolwork, or a message from mum or dad or… They never just talk anymore. Now, Loki nods, concedes the point.

“It’s cold because there’s a lot more than you can see on the surface. Did you know that the bottom of really deep lakes stay the same temperature all year around? It’s warmer than the ice, but much colder than the top layer of water in summer.”

Thor doesn’t know what to make of _that_ either, but as Loki looks thoughtful rather than angered or scared, he feels daring. Slowly sliding his hand over, he positions it so that his little finger is resting against Loki’s. The contact area is minuscule, but it’s there all the same.

“So that water never changes, then?” Thor asks. “Ever?”

“Oh, it changes. In spring and autumn, the storm winds mixes all the water up, like a… a giant whisk or something” he gestures vaguely over the water with his other hand.

“Equilibrium of temperature and all that.”

Thor may not he as quick of mind as his brother, but he still see the implication clear as day - or is it an invitation? And the thing is, he _wants_ to be that storm. He _wants_ to bring the deep dark waters up to the surface to be warmed by the sun. He wants to show Loki that no matter what he may think, he is loved, his place is right by Thor’s side. But not knowing how, he remains silent, even now, his little finger against his brother’s still. 

They sit quietly, watching the swallows leaping after bugs above the lake’s surface. Just an hour ago, the birds were circling high in the sky, barely within their vision. Now they almost skim the water in their hunt, though they stay a safe distance from the boys on the rocky shoreline.

Suddenly, after a long silence, Loki leans his head back and laughs. Perplexed, Thor doesn’t quite know what to make of it. Between fits of laughter, Loki manages to say “The Neck, really?” and Thor can’t help smiling back, although he is still a bit too self-conscious to quite see the hilarity. But when Loki settles again, he rests against Thor, his head on Thor’s shoulder. His laughter vibrates down Thor spine, sparking Thor’s own.  
They haven’t been this easy and light with each other for a very long time. As their initial fits of laughter die down, Thor takes advantage of the lighter mood and launches into a story from the last week of school, one in which Fandral failed _spectacularly_ to impress one of Sif’s cousins visiting from out of town. Then another about notes passed in biology class. He gestures wildly with his right arm, but makes sure to keep his left side still, keeping Loki close.

The sun is slowly, slowly, approaching the horizon, making the shadows longer and the water darker, but its long until nighttime yet. With only another week to go until Midsummer Eve, the sun won’t fully set until close to midnight. The low sunlight lights up Loki’s profile like a halo, catching on his unkempt hair and making it glow, and the evening is still as bright as their drowsy minds. Thor is glad they set up the tent earlier, because as it is, he’s too loose and relaxed to get anything decent done. They should probably get something to eat, they haven’t eaten since the brief lunch break they took on the way up through the forest, but he doesn’t want to leave Loki’s side. Instead, he half-listens as Loki launches into an explanation of Shakespearean jokes. It’s much easier to follow than when he’s on a tirade about philosophy or poetry, and none of Thor’s teachers have ever told him that the theatre classics were quite that dirty.

“Is there a single reference that isn’t about a sex?” he asks, eventually. Loki grins.

“Of course, a significant chunk is about shit as well. The theatre-going public in the sixteenth century clearly were a sophisticated bunch.”

They both dissolve into giggles at that point.

They somehow make it back to the tent, ineffectively leaning on each other for support. Its not that they’re that inebriated, but the forest floor is littered with roots and rocks, some hidden under moss, and Loki is insisting on staying in physical contact with Thor at all times, which Thor certainly isn’t going choose this moment to object to. Opening the tent and going inside is too complex a task, however, and they go down in a laughing tangle of limbs.  
Thor is so relieved, his heart is unburdened for the first time in what feels like years. Slowly, laughter turns into giggles turns into calm breathing only occasionally interrupted by a chuckle. They lie down like they did when they were children, in a disorderly arrangement that shouldn’t be comfortable but that neither of them want to disrupt. The wind starts catching up outside in the summer night.

* * *

It's still light outside, but within the fabric walls of their tent, darkness paints Loki’s green eyes almost as black as his hair. For the third time, Thor is reminded of a fairytale creature; Loki is so far from his usual acerbic self, doesn’t seem quite real. Thor’s gaze wanders over Loki’s profile, sees him anew. His thin lips, his fine nose, the newly sharp angle of his jaw, the long line of his throat. The alcohol and their new easy closeness is still buzzing in Thor’s blood, making it hard to breathe. He’s so close that he can almost see the pulse in Loki’s neck. He wants to feel it, wants to reassure himself that Loki is really there, warm and solid, and oh, oh, he wants to taste it. He wants to run his lip along Loki’s throat and feel the heat against his lips and tongue. He’s hard before he can finish the thought. _What the hell._

Were he sober, it would have stopped there. Were he sober, he’d probably be angry with himself, or with Loki. Hell, were he sober, he would have been able to interrupt the thought before it formed and then pretend it hadn’t happened.  
He’s not sober.  
He leans in.

Loki smells like sweat and cotton fabric. His skin is cool from sitting still by the water for so long, but underneath that, he’s just as warm and alive as Thor has been hoping as his lips make contact with Loki’s skin. For a fraction of a second, everything comes together in one perfect sensation, one perfect note of satisfaction, like a reprieve from pressure he wasn’t even aware was there.

Then Loki goes stock still and the reality of what he’s just done comes crashing down on Thor. His lips still on Loki’s neck, he can’t move, can’t think, can’t do anything at all. What the fuck is he doing? Not only is Loki a guy, but he’s Thor’s own brother, circumstances be damned. And yet. Nothing had ever felt that right, that good, before.  
Thor is still frozen, caught between thoughts, mortified. Then Loki shifts slightly to give him better access and makes a small noise of encouragement and _oh, yes_. He’s allowed. He’s invited, wanted. Thor regains his courage, he tastes again, and again, and again.

Banishing thought, slowly kissing his way up to Loki’s jaw, lingering there for a moment, then continues down the front of his throat.  
He pauses briefly, takes a breath and steals another look. Loki’s brow is furrowed, eyes closed, and he’s biting his lower lip to keep any sound from escaping. Thor has somehow been able to immediately internalize this strange new desire, has let it settle with the alcohol in his belly. But what fills him at the sight of Loki’s face now is a wave of almost unbearable tenderness. Loki blinks, then opens his eyes fully, looks up at him, and the feeling increases thousandfold, beyond reason. Thor’s heart is beating so hard he’s half afraid it’ll beat right out of his chest. He has to touch, has to know Loki’s body better.

Bracing himself on one elbow, he moves his other hand up to Loki’s face, runs the thumb along Loki’s lower lip to loosen it. Loki is so unbelievably lovely, pale face, dark hair, eyes wide open now. He still hasn’t said anything, but he’s been responsive enough that Thor isn’t really worried. Still, Thor waits, eyebrows raised in question. Loki nods minutely, and Thor’s lips are on his almost before the gesture is finished. Loki’s mouth is soft and warm beneath his, open and greedy almost instantly. Loki’s hands land in Thor’s hair, keeping him there. Not that he would even want to leave. Not now, with his and Loki’s lips fitting together like they have always meant to be that way. Not now, with one of Loki’s hands in his hair and the other behind his neck. Thor’s free hand is on Loki’s jaw, his thumb stroking Loki’s cheek, but he can feel his supporting elbow getting more tired by the second. Yet he doesn’t want to stop, not even for a moment; the kisses are too soft and sweet, the intoxication of the scent of Loki too strong.

It’s not as though he’s entirely inexperienced. He’s kissed several girls at dances, and necked with Amora multiple times on the bench hidden behind the trees after summer dances at the park. They even almost went further once, but neither of them had a rubber - and Thor wasn’t about to give up the life he had planned to settle down and raise a kid, should it come to it - and he remembers the sensation, the burn low in his belly. It’s nothing compared to this. What was embers with his hands on Amora’s thighs is a hotly stoked fire as Loki’s hips grind up against his, the warmth of his body bleeding through the fabric of his trousers, the outline of his cock rubbing against Thor’s hip. Loki’s mouth is on his, Loki’s taste is on his tongue and this is what he has wanted all this time, without knowing it. It’s so much, it’s too much, it’s overwhelming him, and, with a flare of panic, he realizes he’s no distance at all away from spending right there and then.  
He pulls back. Loki blinks up at him and he makes an effort to calm down and smile.

“Hush. I just need a second.”

“Are you sure?” That insecure tint that he’s never heard in Loki’s voice before. It makes his heart ache, and he doesn’t know how to reassure without seeming like an inexperienced ass. He nods, embarrassed. Looks away, which is on second thought the worst thing he can do. He strokes Loki’s cheek again, slowly, gingerly.  
“Just… just let me catch my breath or this will be over before it starts.”

Loki’s hesitation melts away at his words, and he smiles a kind of smile Thor hasn’t seen in a very long time; a smug, mischievous grin. Without warning, Loki grabs him and rolls him over; Thor finds himself on his back with Loki on top of him. Loki kisses him again, and again, and again, teeth nibbling at Thor’s lower lip, and once Thor is thoroughly distracted, moves his hand down to start stroking Thor’s cock through his trousers. First slowly, teasingly, then with increasing intensity. When he first starts, Thor wants to protest - he’s not done with Loki yet - bit the sensation, combined with the taste of Loki, his low, encouraging whispers, they all take Thor over. He closes his eyes and starts thrusting back up into Loki’s hand, can’t quite stop himself from making small noises, it’s so, so good. Loki unbuttons Thor’s trousers, and oh, once he gets his hands inside, just the thin cotton of his underwear between them, it takes Thor mere moments before he comes against Loki’s fingers through the fabric, whispering Loki’s name.

When his breathing calms down, his hands start wandering up Loki’s hips. He is straddling Thor’s upper thighs, and Thor means to keep him there, open his trousers and return the favor, but finds himself hesitating. He reaches up and grabs Loki by the shoulders instead, pulling him down for more kisses. With Loki’s face right above his own, he wants to speak, but can’t quite find the right words.

“Don’t leave me.” His voice comes out so small.

“Thor,” says Loki, and Thor can’t tell what that tone of voice, almost whispered, almost sad, means. And then he decides it can wait, because he needs to touch more of Loki’s skin before he brings him off. He fumbles with the buttons of the shirt before Loki catches his drift and helps out. Loki wriggles out of the shirt and then pulls his cotton undershirt over his head, and before it’s even completely removed, Thor has pulled him down and returned his lips to Loki’s skin.

He sits up, one hand on Loki’s chest, thumb rubbing over a nipple and he can hear Loki’s breath hitch as his other hand is fumbling to undo Loki’s belt and start unbuttoning his trousers. Thor doesn’t intend to have any fabric between them, even if it means taking another minute or three to get there. And then he’s done, uses both his hands to push the trousers and underwear down, and adjusts so that he can touch Loki’s cock directly. Loki is so responsive under his hands, moves up to his knees and rocks into Thor’s touch. “Thor, Thor, Thor,” he breathes, and then nothing more, because Thor pulls him back down and kisses him, doesn’t let him go, swallows every whine and mewl and moan before finally, Loki leans his head back, hands returned to Thor’s hair, mouth wide open in a gasp as he spills over Thor’s hand.

Afterwards, they settle down next to each other on the tent floor. Thor’s fingers are drawing lazy patterns over Loki’s shoulder. Loki smiles at him and Thor wants to keep that smile forever, tap it on bottles and get drunk on it a hundred years from now. Then Loki wrinkles his nose against Thor’s skin.  
“You stink.”  
“Well, fortunately for your nose, we have a lake right next door.” Loki isn’t wrong; neither of them smell like flowers at this point. But it takes another lazy while for them to get up, put their ruined clothes aside, and gather their towels to head down to the water. Smelly or not, the small, warm cloud of contentment that has settled around them is too comfortable to abandon too soon.

Once they get into the cold lake, though, an appropriate amount of attention is paid to cleanliness. After the long day, rinsing the sweat and dust away is too much of a relief to do much of anything else. Taking turns with the soap, they are soon as clean as they will get, only playfully splashing each other as they’re done. Now, they might have stayed longer in the water if the rain hadn’t started falling; not a meek, lukewarm summer rain, but the herald of a proper storm. The sky is rapidly darkening as clouds move in from the east. They hurry back to the tent, bunching the towels up in the far corner as the rain begins to patter against the cloth with increasing volume. Grateful now for the oversize tent, they settle down in the middle, a safe distance from the fabric walls. Far away, Thor can hear the first rumblings of a thunderstorm.

He doesn’t have much of a mind to focus on counting seconds between lighting and thunder, though, because Loki is very near and very, very naked. When the cold water provided some brief moments of clarity, Thor found himself wondering what the hell was going on, how long this had been brewing - hidden to himself but probably all too obvious to Loki. He should probably be ashamed, for both of them, but it’s too difficult to argue with something that feels so right. Thor has always worked by instinct more than by any plan, and right now all of him is screaming for Loki. He may not be as drunk on alcohol anymore, but Loki’s kisses prove no less intoxicating.

Now Loki more or less climbs into his lap, all hands and lips and skin all over Thor’s. They kiss again, and it’s the very best thing that has happened to him, to have Loki this close, mouth on Thor’s mouth. There is no silence between them, no anger, no disconnect. Just this desire, pure and distilled and _theirs_. They kiss and kiss and kiss until their mouths are bruised and they’re both breathless as the storm roars outside, wilder and wilder. The bright summer night grows as dark as winter, and of this, Thor and Loki notice very little. Thor knows only the sweet smell of Loki’s hair, the slightly raised birthmark on his right shoulder, the breathless gasps he makes as Thor feels daring enough to let his teeth graze the skin on his neck, right over the artery where his blood is pumping wildly.

Thunder cracks. They keep kissing. Then, seized by a sudden impulse, Thor lets go of Loki’s face, moves to wrap his arms around his waist instead and pull him closer. His teeth graze the side of Loki’s neck again, and he can feel Loki’s fingernails digging into his shoulders. Gingerly, he bites a little harder and Loki _mewls_. If Thor wasn’t already as turned on he could possibly get… Loki presses closer and Thor tightens his grip around him.  
“Mine,” he whispers into Loki's skin and he can _feel_ Loki’s “ _Yesyesyes_ ” in response. Then Loki wiggles out of his grip to lie down, one hand in Thor’s beckoning him to follow.

Thunder cracks again, lighting up the tent. For a moment, they are able to see each other clearly, and in the harsh, blue light there is nothing more lovely than Loki’s white throat, sharp jawline, the green of his eyes almost drowned in pupils blown wide. On his back on the blanket, he looks unreal, like his kisses have touched deeper than just Thor’s lips, Thor’s skin. Like the old Thor is being blown away in the storm and he is someone new, someone wild. Loki reaches out to touch his hair. “Don’t worry,” he half-whispers, “we’re close enough to the water to be safe from any strikes.” Then he leans his head back again and raises his eyebrows as if in challenge, and Thor doesn’t feel safe all. He feels like the thunder strikes in beat with his own heart, like there’s lightning in his veins, and that it’s the weather that is mirroring his soul, not the other way around. Moving his lips back to Loki’s skin, Thor is greedy, wanton. He isn’t giving kisses as much as being allowed to taste, as if partaking in some sort of holy feast, more real than any prayer or hymn he’s ever had to learn by heart. He could inhale the scent of Loki’s skin, warm now and beginning to sweat, every moment for the rest of his life and still not have had enough. He could taste it until the memory of all other flavors disappear. He wants to. He traces the skin from Loki’s chest down to his navel, planting kisses along the path.

Then he pauses. Takes a moment to think. He’s heard stories, whispered in the smoking spot in the schoolyard and drunkenly boasted late at night, but has been uncertain about whether or not they were true. Before today, he hasn’t imagined that they could be; that anyone would do such a thing voluntarily. Now he knows better. He presses one light kiss to the base of Loki’s cock, then licks a wet trace the full length of it. Loki gasps. Thor does it again, elicits another gasps that turns into a whine and a curse.

He looks up at Loki and finds that his eyes are huge. Unbidden, the memory of jam on molasses bread, of orange wedges, comes to Thor’s mind. He has to rest his own forehead against Loki’s hip and catch his breath for a moment. This is perfect, this is a way for Thor to show Loki just how very much he loves him without risking bungling his words. He licks his own lips, parts them, and slowly begins to take Loki’s cock into his mouth. The sounds Loki is making are almost drowned by the storm, but Thor can hear them still, feel Loki vibrate under his hands, his lips, on his tongue. It’s a strange feeling, but not unpleasant, and made sweeter by Loki’s desperate hands in his hair. Only a few moves up and down, and Loki is canting his hips off of the blankets. Thor considers for a moment, then sucks, and the sound of Loki’s voice drowns out the wind and the rain. Thor wishes he could see his brother more clearly like this, beside himself with pleasure. Calm, collected, Loki unable to contain himself because of _him_ is a heady thing, and he sucks again, finds a rhythm. Loki’s hands clenches and unclenches in pace. Thor realizes he’s started rocking his own hips against the sleeping bag covering the tent floor beneath him without noticing it, searching for friction. Suddenly he doesn’t have enough hands; wants them all over Loki, on himself, everywhere. He manages to focus on the taste of Loki, Loki’s hands pulling hard on his hair, until suddenly Loki lets go.

“Thor,” he says, “I’m gonna…”

Thor scoots up on his knees, puts one hand around Loki’s cock and the other on himself. This isn’t so bad - he gets to look at Loki now, his hands tight around the sleeping bag fabric, his mouth open to let out a stream of sweet sounds. Thor is able to see clearer now, haven’t heard the thunder in a fairly long time, and realizes that the storm must have almost passed. Rain is still pattering against the tent cloth, but with less vigor than just a few minutes ago. He strokes Loki once, twice, three times, then leans down over him and supports his own weight on one arm, hovering over Loki, who pulls him down, burrowing his face in Thor’s neck as on the fourth stroke brings him over the edge. For a moment Thor’s own need gives way to another wave of tenderness that borders on painful. When Loki resurfaces, Thor kisses his sweaty hairline, his forehead, his cheek, before returning his lips to his mouth. Loki is still catching his breath, but once he has, he grins at Thor again.

"My turn.”

This time, Thor doesn’t mind at all as they switch positions, he just pulls Loki tightly against himself first, heedless of the sticky mess it leaves on his stomach. He still feels unmoored and wild, doesn’t really know what he wants other than _more_ and _Loki_ and _now_. He kisses the underside of Loki’s jaw before a soft “Hey now” from Loki prompts him to clamber off and lie down on his back. Briefly, their lips touch again, and Thor can’t fathom how he has survived without this for eighteen years, how that’s even possible. Loki begins by mimicking Thor’s earlier action, kissing a trail down his chest, but instead of continuing to his stomach he stops at a nipple, first running his tongue over it and then taking it into his mouth. Thor hears himself gasp, and Loki has the audacity to stop to grin up at him. He should mind. He really should, but that grin on Loki’s face, the joy and pleasure evident there, Thor can’t bring himself to feel anything but love. He smiles back, willing Loki to understand just how much Thor adores him right now. And who knows if it works, because Loki ducks his head and runs his tongue over the nipple again. Thor doesn’t even try not to make noise; his remaining willpower is used on trying to stop himself from writhing, twisting. His hips want to move on their own accord and Loki isn’t anywhere near them yet, and… _yet_.

Thor is hit with another wave of emotion; desperation, sure, but mingled in there is disbelief. It’s devastating enough that he is allowed to touch Loki like this, kiss Loki’s pale throat, which has been alluring for so long without Thor even being aware he has been enchanted. But now Loki’s lips are on him, working their way down his belly, soft and playful, teasing and hot, all at the same time. Thor’s brain fights itself trying to force his thoughts into shape, until Loki’s lips touch his cock and he can’t think of anything at all. He makes some sort of noise. Then his mind seems to melt under the hot-wet of Loki’s mouth, he can’t think at all, just squeeze his eyes shut and try to keep his hips on the ground. If he hadn't already spent less than an hour ago, he would have been done for already, and it’s not far away as it is. The storm outside may have passed, but the one in Thor’s chest lives on, curls and twists and dances. He wants to look and not at the same time, scared by some instinct more than rational thought, that what he’s feeling is beyond human senses and that if he dares steal a glance, he’ll be utterly destroyed for his hubris. He abandons sight for another sensation; pries his fingers from the fabric and moves a hand to grapple for Loki’s. It takes a moment to find it, but then his and Loki’s fingers are entangled.  
Thor lets go of thought entirely, concentrating on Loki’s mouth on him, Loki’s fingers against his own, the growing, uncontrollable storm of pleasure rising, and rising, and rising, until there’s no room left, his climax punching his breath right out of him.

  
When he regains his senses, Loki is sitting up, eyes on Thor, lips swollen and flushed, more forest creature than statue once more. Thor pulls Loki down next to him, and they lie there until their breathing slowly returns to normal before rising to towel off and find undershirts and shorts to sleep in, the rustling of clothes, bags, and tent cloth the only sounds heard.

* * *

Outside, the forest is brightening with the first light of dawn. In just a few hours, the sun will climb over the horizon. Loki’s face has an expression on it… the same morning, Thor would have thought about it as ‘unreadable’. Now, he gives it his best. Loki looks wistful and like he’s far, far away, and just as Thor is about to ask, Loki catches him looking and shoots him a lopsided, if not entirely sincere, grin. Not wanting to ruin the moment with his own inability to find the right words, Thor merely reaches out to tuck an errant strand of hair behind Loki’s ear. Briefly, Loki’s grin dissolves into something softer, before he closes his eyes and covers Thor’s hand with his own.  
“I must leave, you know.”

  
Thor doesn’t want to back down on this - hasn’t wanted to back down on a single issue in his entire life - but it’s not like he has much choice. Loki is here, now, with him, and for the moment that will have to suffice. Although his vision is getting blurry with sleepiness, he tells Loki as much, before pulling him close and settling in. Loki holds himself stiff for several minutes, but then he slowly relaxes against Thor, and his breathing grows even. They still have a whole week left to themselves, the forest and the water, and Thor can think of a multitude of ways to spend that time. A smile ghosts over his face as they fall asleep, close together in the early summer dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding the tags: it's inebriated sex but not, I would argue, enough to make it dubious consent. They drink a bit, but then spend quite some time talking before anything happens, so no one does anything they didn't want to, but it DID give them that extra push of taking away inhibitions. It that's your squick or trigger, you can still read to the first horizontal divider and get most of the plot and no sex!
> 
> * * *
> 
> 1) Nalen was a famous jazz club in Stockholm. It was The Place to Be from the 30s into the 60s.
> 
> 2) The Neck (Näcken) is a creature from Swedish folklore; a man who sits in the water, playing the fiddle and luring human to a watery death. In older versions, he's usually an old man, but the Romantic period artists started portraying him as young, beautiful and long haired, so there you go.
> 
> 3) Water is at its highest density not as ice (ice is less dense than water, that's why it floats) but at 4 degrees Celsius, just above freezing. Loki pays attention in class. The whisk may be an analogy from my 8th? grade science teacher, not sure. (this particular quirk of water is what makes life on earth possible at all.)
> 
> 4) I made a playlist! It's a mix of period stuff, summer hymns, and stuff that inspired me while reading. [Spotify link](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/21ETh75LptKN0DWjspeSL4?si=7HCYmKpVRnuzuGCe-XLnyQ)
> 
> [come say hi on tumblr! I'm onaa-tumbls there.](https://onaa-tumbls.tumblr.com/)


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